Nothing But The Truth
by May Salome Love
Summary: Cammie is a liar. It was what she learned to do best: Lie. When she's sent to Gallagher Academy, Cammie feels like lying won't be an option for much longer. Especially when the lies of her past are threatening to catch up to the present. T for swearing.
1. Chapter 1: Prolong

**_I didn't say no when they ushered me into the black limo. I didn't say no when they asked me if I wanted to attend Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and Gentlemen. I didn't say no when they asked if I was fine. But then again, I didn't say yes either._**

* * *

They came into the house wearing black suits and sunglasses. They didn't take them off when my foster mom asked them to sit. They didn't take them off at all.

**Number of Items they've all touched**: **15**

**Number of Men Present: 5**

**Number of Men Standing: 3**

**Number of Men Sitting: 2**

I shrunk back into the shadows, making myself seem invisible. I was actually sitting behind the flower-pot, clearly visible if I weren't a natural-born pavement artist.

The men standing talked quietly into what I figured would be a comms unit. I was about to read the lips of the second guy standing when one of the men on the couch spoke.

"I wager you're wondering why we're here."

My foster mom, Lidia, nodded. "You said you'd be here tomorrow."

The guy who'd spoken first raised his eyebrows, "Does this cause you any inconvenience?"

Lidia shook her head, "Not at all, really. It's just that, my husband, Keith, is at work today. He always works late on Wednesdays."

The guy who hasn't yet spoken nodded and one of the people standing muttered what she had said in his comms unit.

"Well, did the school accept her?" Lidia asked hurriedly after a short pause.

The one who's been speaking showed no emotion, "Obviously. Her record shows that she is a very intelligent student. Smarter than most her age."

I quietly moved away from the flower-pot and sneaked towards the stairs. Making it seem like I just came down the steps, "What school?"

The men didn't jump at the sound of my voice but I could tell that they were surprised.

The man who had talked this whole time (You know what? I'm just gonna call him Chatty) said, "Why, Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and Gentlemen of course."

He swirled his head toward Lidia, "You haven't told her?"

Lidia shook her head meekly, "I've been waiting for the right time."

Chatty showed no emotion through his face but I could tell from the way he folded his hands in his lap that he was enjoying this.

"Cameron," Lidia said. "I've enrolled you into Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and Gentlemen."

"Surprise," Chatty said in a voice that clearly showed that he liked to spring surprises on people. Typically bad surprises.

I surprised them all by saying, in a voice that was empty of any emotion, "I'm already packed."

* * *

**A/N I know, posting yet another story is a REALLY BAD IDEA but i couldn't resist.**


	2. In Another Life

_**Punk. That was my cover. You know my type: Spiky black hair, larger than I need sizes. Black is the new black, I'd say. But as Mr. Solomon and the others stared at me, I felt like blurting out every single thing I've been through. I felt like telling them, "This is not who I really am."**_

_**I felt like saying, "This is not who I want to be."**_

* * *

The trees pass by quickly. There are 29 on this block and as we pass the next, I count 10. I am sitting beside the window in a black limo. The windows are tinted from the outside so no one can see me. I am the only one in the back seat. The only other person in the car is the driver. There is a screen in the middle of us. He doesn't open it to talk.

We've been driving for three hours so far. From 10 o'clock to 1 o'clock at night. My internal clock is reminding me the seconds that pass. I do not go to sleep.

We pass town after town. I stare out the window and count.

**Things I pass on a single block:**

**5 lampposts**

**9 houses**

**1 mini playground**

**3 gardens**

It's a never-ending game I play until I reach the school. I'm sure that I wouldn't even stop at the school.

Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Ladies and Gentlemen.

I feel like barfing when the name is mentioned.

It sounds like a school for rich snobs. I bet that that's their cover.

Hidden in Roseville, Virginia is a school for spies.

But, of course, I'm not supposed to know that. Yet.

I don't move my eyes away from the window. From the moment I've gotten into this car and inspected it, my eyes have been glued to the window. Like the window is a magnet and my eyes are the iron.

I'm not bored in the slightest. My life is a game to some people. I die, they win. I live, they lose. That's why I'm always on my toes.

My bag is on my lap and my suitcase is by my feet. I've insisted that I keep my luggage near me. They were suspicious at first, but when they figured out that there couldn't be a bomb in my bag, due to the fact that I don't want to kill myself and they think of me as a mere civilian, they let it go.

If only they knew the truth.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx**

The limo pulls up in front of the school an hour and 32 minutes later. It's still dark and my internal clock blinks 2:32.

I don't say a word as I swing my bag over my shoulder, open the door and step out of the limo with my black suitcase in my hand. I'm dragging it behind me. It makes a banging noise as it hits each step I drag it on. The noise sounds loud in the darkness of the night.

When I finally make it to the top of the steps, there is a person waiting for me.

I feel numb when I look at him.

His name is Joe Solomon. But, of course, I'm not supposed to know that. Yet.

He greets me with a simple, small head nod which I do not reply. He turns around and enters the school, knowing that I will follow him. I do.

Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Ladies and Gentlemen has the same amount of grand on the inside than on the outside.

The walls are decorated with certificates and school pictures and medals that the students have won. There is a statue of the schools' founder in the foyer. It looks harmless. I know the truth.

He leads me through ten corridors. I scan everything I pass and put it into memory.

I don't let my hands touch anything.

Mr. Solomon doesn't look back but from the racket that my suitcase makes on the tile floor, he knows I am following him.

Finally, we reach a door. Mr. Solomon opens it with a key and walks in. I trail in behind him.

The room is large with a desk in the corner, a couch, and a coffee table.

**Number of air vents: 3**

**Number of certificates on the wall: 7**

**Number of fake certificates on the wall: 7**

**Number of plants in the room: 3**

**Number of fake plants in the room: 2**

I sit down on the couch and face Mr. Solomon. He is sitting on a black leather chair behind his desk, which is bare.

We eye each other for 24 seconds. Finally, he breaks the silence.

"Are you Cameron Carter?" He asks.

I've changed my real last name to my foster last name. On the CIA database and any other huge or small organization, I am Cameron Carter.

"Yes," I lie.

I don't consider Carter to be my real last name.

Mr. Solomon nods. I expect him to. My lies are a thing to admire. No one knows when I lie. No one knows when I tell the truth.

"You are sixteen, correct?" he asks.

I nod.

"Welcome to Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Ladies and Gentlemen, Cameron." He says.

I nod and inspect my finger nails. My cover for this school is to be a total rebel; A bitch at heart.

There's a knock on the door and six people barge in.

One is a dark-skinned girl who is beautiful in an exotic way.

Another is a black-haired beauty wearing a silk sleeping gown. I mark her down as the senators' daughter.

The third girl is small and pixie pretty. She looks around the room as if calculating a math problem.

The other three people are boys. The first one I see looks like a resemblance to Brad Pit. He has muscular forearms and a pretty face. He looks intimidating but I am not afraid.

The next boy is small and geeky looking. His black hair is in a rumpled mess and he seems to think of this whole situation as a math problem.

The last boy I see is Zachery Goode. I know that because his face is in almost every magazine I read. He is America's singer; Young with age and hot at face. I mark him as cocky.

"Where is Anna?" Mr. Solomon asks then.

"She looked tired so we let her sleep," The senators' daughter replies.

Mr. Solomon nods.

"What did you call us here for?" The Brad Pitts' body double asks.

Mr. Solomon looks to me. The rest follow his gaze.

"Oh," The Pixie girl says.

"Hello," The dark-skinned girl says, trying to be polite.

I don't reply.

"Have you told her yet?" Zachery Goode asks.

Mr. Solomon shakes his head. Zachery smirks.

Finally, I nod to the dark-skinned girl, making her know that I've acknowledged her.

"Tell me what?" I ask Mr. Solomon, leveling my gaze to his eyes.

He presses a red button on his desk. Suddenly, his room had made a whole transformation. I made my face look blank for the time. Finally, things stopped moving and the slight rumbling in the ground stopped.

Mr. Solomon and the others stared at me, looking for an emotion. Shock, perhaps. They got nothing.

I keep my face as smooth as marble as I look around the room again. Instead of certificates, there are swords and daggers that line the wall. Instead of the fake plants, there are holes in the ground. I suspect that one leads to the kitchen. The only thing that stays the same in the room is the air vents. There are still three.

"Cameron, this is a school for spies," Mr. Solomon says.

I nod, and turn to ask him a question. I see the pixie girl look relieved that I finally am deciding to talk.

"So, how does this school work?" I ask.

I see Zachery open his mouth to talk but words spill out of my mouth before he could blink.

"I mean, do u still have the popular bitches and the Make-up, Fake-up clan? Or is the geek club more popular?" I say, eyeing the boy with the ruffled black hair.

They stare at me. The pixie girls' face is gone with any trace of relief that it held before.

The Senators' daughter spoke first, "I'm Macey McHenry. I think we'll get along fine."

I make my face blank. There is an awkward silence that hangs in the air.

"Or, maybe not," Macey says in a quiet voice, not meant for me to hear. I do, anyways.

"Why don't you introduce yourselves," Mr. Solomon says, shooting a glance at Macey. He heard what she said, too.

"I'll go first," He says. "My name is Joe Solomon."

"I'm Bex," The dark-skinned girl says.

"Liz," The pixie looking girl adds.

"Grant," Says the Brad Pitt body double.

"I'm Jonas," Says the geeky looking boy.

Zachery only winks. I think he expects me to blush. I don't.

"Cameron Carter," I say in monotone.

"Well, do you want us to call you a nickname or something? Cameron is sort of a mouthful." Grant says.

"No," I say. "If you can't call me Cameron, don't call me at all."

Nicknames remind me of when Aunt Abby was alive. I don't like nicknames anymore.

"Let's get down to business," Mr. Solomon finally says, "I've called you six to help Cameron get to class, help her with her homework and other spy related stuff, understood?"

Jonas yawns, Zachary smirks and the others nod, none too happy about the arrangement.

"Cameron, you will sleep in single dorm due to the fact that all the others are currently full. You will also start your studies with the kids under your grade, due to the fact that you are a late starter."

I nod and he hands me my class schedule. I take it without looking at it.

I hacked in to the school's information account on the internet before I came. I know my classes memorized.

I get up and dust off my clothes.

"Please lead me to my room," I say quietly to Liz; so quiet that the others probably didn't hear me.

Liz's eyes widen but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she just turns around and leads the way.

I trail behind, with my luggage trailing noisily behind me.

* * *

**A/N good or bad? Comment your thoughts on this chapter in the review box please! And a shout out to those who've followed and reviewed and done anything else to promote this story!**


	3. Distance

Disclaimer: I don't own The Gallagher Girls! There. I said it. :D

* * *

_**I wish I could tell you that I wasn't always this way; that, once upon a time, I was an innocent person. I wish a lot of things, but, this is the thing that I wish the most.**_

_**Because despite how many times I wish,**_

_**I know in my heart that it will never come true.**_

* * *

I stare at the mirror the next morning after I've taken away the entire hidden camera's I found last night. There was a lot.

I did not get a wink of sleep when I was sent to this dorm. But then again, I never sleep.

Sleep is when the nightmares come.

My internal clock alerts me that it is 6:30. Breakfast starts at 7:00.

I fix my spiky black wig. It's attached onto a bald cap so people have to go through twice the trouble if they want to see who I really am.

My eyes change depending on the clothes I am wearing and since I always wear black, my eyes are always a piercing dark blue.

It's way better than contacts.

I put some spiky rings on and head out the door, 15 minutes earlier than I need to be. I'm fine with it though. Better to not encounter people than walk in on the whole school.

I memorized my schedule last night and roamed the school, finding 31 secret passage ways that I know no one knew existed before, due to the thick amount of dust that caked the floor and walls.

My messenger bag hit against my leg, it looks small but is bigger than you might think.

I enter the Cafeteria to a hundred pairs of eyes.

Oh, Crap.

I guess I'm not early after all.

I walk up to get my food. The Cafeteria is so quiet that it gets eerie. After taking my breakfast—Cereal, sandwich, salad, and a glass of milk—I head to a small table in the corner of the room, able to fit only one to two people. I'm content sitting here.

Until a girl walks up to me.

She walks with a purpose and carries a notebook in her right hand. As she gets closer I figure out if she is a threat or not. I laugh at the thought a second later.

Finally, she reaches me; the Cafeteria was quiet on her walk here, making her heels have a loud echoing sound. I bet she loves having the attention on her.

She smiles when she reaches me and when I don't smile back, I detect a small sign of uneasiness by the way her smile faltered for a second before she plasters it on her face again.

_A good spy never shows emotion…_

"Hello," She says. "I'm Tina."

I grunt in response.

She pulls a chair to sit next to me. It makes an awful scraping noise that echoes across the walls.

She launches into a round of question: "Is it true you came from the orphanage? Or were you actually raised by dogs in the wild? Do you break stuff for fun or are you emo? Why won't you let anyone call you with a nickname?"

I ate my breakfast while she chattered on. The people in the Cafeteria started whispers of conversation but never louder than Tina's questions.

I finish my breakfast by the time she ends her last question. With a push of my chair, I stand up and head to over to where I put the empty plates away.

She watches me as I exit the Cafeteria along with the other hundred kids in there, realizing that I didn't answer a single question she asked.

* * *

**A/n yup, short. Sorry. **

**I'll update soon, (hoping)**


	4. Better Than The Best

**To be a spy you first have to be the best of everything. Actually, you just have to be better than civilians and know how to send a better than decent right hook. But for me, being a spy means you have to be perfect.**

**But from what I've experienced, Perfect sometimes doesn't cut it either.**

* * *

_My first class at this deranged spy school is COW: Countries of the World._

_Don't _normal _people already cover this in Grade school?_

How did that sound? Did I sound ignorant?

I think I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.

I enter the class room only to be met with the teacher.

Mr. Smith.

Now, this year Mr. Smith looks like a typical guy in his 40's; Forty-Seven to be exact. He has a white mustache; white hair with sideburns that looks like it might disappear from his scalp tomorrow and a big pot belly that hangs over his belt and makes his suspenders look…unnatural.

Mr. Smith is a natural at deception. He knows every way to make himself look like a totally different person. He knows when someone is trying to look like a totally different person, too; especially if he knew the person beforehand.

So when Mr. Smith stars at me when I enter the class room, I know i'm screwed.

"Ah, Cammie Morgan. I was wondering when you'd show up at this school."

Oh,

Crap.

"Nice cover you got there, "He says, examining me, "Have you been using the new finger prints I taught you to get?"

"I'm Cameron Carter now," I say.

"And I'm the boogeyman," He replies. "Face it, Cam, you'll always be a Morgan."

"Cameron," I correct him.

This is going to be the worst spy class of my life.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx **

I sit in the back of the COW class and never put my hand up, blending into the background like a Chameleon. It's one of the things I do best, after all. I had to use it to my advantage; I'm a spy.

I mostly stare into space, I already know this stuff.

When COW class ends, I rush out; making myself seem like I don't want to learn "useless" stuff like that.

Next is Culture and Assimilation class. I blend into the crowed while walking to my destination, feeling like one of them. I know I'm not and the feeling quickly demolishes. I probably will never be one of them.

The teacher is Madame Dabney. She wears glasses and walks around the class, seeming like she is floating.

She teaches us manners, etiquette, dance, and basically everything proper you need to learn when you're a spy. I listen in this class because even though I'm an experienced spy, I have not yet learned to be polite. I think it shows in my cover.

Madame Dabney calls on me to answer a question and I answer flawlessly, but not was flawless as I want. She nods at me and moves on to ask another person a question, leaving me determined to learn to the best of my abilities.

For the rest of the class I plan how to be the best.

I plan to better than the best.

I plan to be perfect.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx**

Mr. Mosckowitz is the teacher of my next class and I wonder if anyone else my age is in a grade lower than they should be. I remember the files I searched on the internet about Gallagher Academy. I'm the only one.

I would perceive Mr. Mosckowitz to be weak. He is 5 foot 5 and wears glass. What is it with this school and glasses? From the files I hacked into I know that he is interested in scuba diving and swimming in general. That would explain his wrinkled tips of his fingers.

Mr. Mosckowitz teaches us data encryption and mathematics that is for people twice the age of most of the spies in the class. I listen with rapt attention and blend in with the background, sitting in the back of the class.

He doesn't glance back at me once. No one does. I am glad.

I'm not perfect at this class either and I'm getting frustrated.

Next I have Lunch and I sit in the same spot I had breakfast in. No one bothers me but almost everyone glances at me at least once.

The Head Chief is Chief Louis and his crème brulee is delicious. From what I know about him, he used to be the chef at the white house before an incident involving Fluffy (the First Poodle), a gastronomical chemical agent, and some very questionable cheese. The incident was resolved by a Gallagher Spy so he repaid the favour by working here, at Gallagher Academy. He is also renowned for his crème brulee.

I eat my food in silence and am about to get up when someone puts a hand on my table. I looked up to the smirking face of Zachery Goode.

"Do you need something?" I ask.

He shakes his head and pulls a chair from another table to sit on. He moves to my table and puts his elbows on top.

"If you don't need anything then I'm leaving," I say, piling my food on m tray to take to the garbage disposal.

"I need answers," He says.

I raise my brow and keep my face a curious look of question, "Answers?" I ask.

Zachery nods, "Not a lot," He says. "I'm just curious about things."

I roll my eyes and keep my Punk façade on, "Ask away, Zachery, but if I don't want to answer, I'm leaving."

"That," He says.

I look at him in confusion.

"Why do you call me Zachery?" He asks.

Now I'm naturally confused and I know it shows on my face. I am cursing myself a hundred times over for letting my façade slip.

"Isn't it your name?" I ask.

"Well, yea," He says, "But haven't you read any of the magazines? My nickname is Zach."

"I don't _do _nicknames, Zachery," I say. "Now if we're done here, I'm leaving." I don't wait for a response before I take my tray, dump it into the garbage disposal and stride out of the Cafeteria. I am gone before he can even send me one of his pathetic smirks.

I know that almost every girl would do anything to talk to Zachery Goode.

I'm not one of them.

* * *

**A/N Hey. this is longer than the last chapter. i do not own the Gallagher Girls series. tell me what you think of this chapter, please. -May **


	5. Let The Games Begin

**Lies are easy to say. I could say, "I'm fine." Or, "I'm okay." Or, "I feel great." And you'd decipher that as the truth when all along it could be the biggest lie I have ever made**

**In**

**My**

**Whole**

**Life.**

* * *

After lunch I have no other class. I see people walk to the library with arm loads of work. Some have more.

I have no work. It is my first day here. They think I need time to…_adjust_.

I act like they are right.

I walk to my room and dump everything on to my bed and desk. Then I quickly sort out my belongings.

Folders here, Binders there, Notebooks here, Pencils there, in a few minutes I am finished. I like things neat and nothing out-of-place. I'm not a neat freak, really. I just tell myself that if I can't make myself perfect, then I might as well make something else perfect.

I'm happy I get my own room. Privacy is a big advantage to being put in this new school.

**Some Things I Know About This School:**

**Students receive letters from their family thrice every week**

**Students, particularly girls, take gossiping to a whole new level**

**The schools cover is snotty rich kids. I think they're playing their part a little **_**too **_**well**

**Their popularity pyramid consists on how well you can throw a punch**

This list is ongoing. I have put more stuff in it almost every minute. It's boring. I already know almost everything about this school and the people in it anyways.

But as I already know, _almost _doesn't cut it.

* * *

I find this school stupid. I've been walking in the shadows of the corridors for 34 minutes, surrounded by more than 20 kids.

Not one of them has noticed me so far.

It's infuriating. How are they supposed to live in the spy world if they can't sense someone _right beside them?_

I shake my head and run a hand through my black wig. How could they be _this _blind?

With an irritated shake of my head I make my way back to my dorm, where I stand in front of the closed-door and stare at my room.

Something isn't right.

Ah. Bugs.

Maybe this school isn't as stupid as I thought.

Good.

Now I'm thinking of all the possible things I could do—I know that there are video bugs as well as recording ones. They think I'm not a good enough spy to find out that there are bugs in my dorm and if I take them out, then what will they think?

They'll get suspicious.

It's too risky.

I walk around the room and check the bugs.

**One bug on my window sill (video bug),**

**Another bug on my bookshelf (video bug),**

**One on the ceiling (video and voice bug), **

**Another on the door knob (video and voice bug),**

**And one on my dresser (video and voice bug)**

I silently pad toward the washroom. Inside, I look around. I only have one concern. If there is a bug in the washroom, I am taking all of them off.

I look around and hold my breath. After checking the washroom I let it out with a _whoosh _of breath I was holding in. No bugs.

I smile and shake my head; let the games begin.

* * *

**A/N Short and Late, yes, sorry, sorry.**

**Recap: So, class is done for the day and Cammie drops her stuff in her room, and then organized it. After, she sneaked around the school, wondering how good of a spy they are and is disappointed. When she returns to her dorm, she finds bugs. Now, she isn't intrigued but is threatened if there are bugs in the washroom, (Which I will explain why later in the story) there are no bugs. Although, she finds the bugs in her room a way to say, "You're suspicious" So she makes sure to make investigating her hard for them.**


	6. Ditching in Style

**I imagine my life as a marathon. The starting point is obviously the beginning, the water breaks are the middle, and the finishing line is the end; the point where you die.**

**But I also class the beginning, middle and death by how perfect you are.**

**Beginning: XFailX**

**Middle: Getting There….**

**And Death is where you reach the perfect limit point, the place where you've finished the impossible bucket list and are ready to go.**

**I haven't even reached the middle yet.**

**But in my marathon life, even if you don't reach the finishing line, it doesn't mean you can't die. **

**It means you're as good as dead.**

_**Especially **_**if you're a spy.**

* * *

I wake up soundlessly. Stretching my arms above my head, I make sure to look in every bug in turn, then to look away so it looks like I glanced at the bugs in total coincidence.

I take everything I need and then walk to the bathroom. Once I enter, I close the door behind me and securely lock it. Next, I look cautiously around. No cameras. Good.

For the more crucial part, I gently take off my black wig and bald cap to let my golden blonde hair out. It swings three inches above my hips and doesn't have a single split end. I hate it. Too bright, too distracting, too noticeable for a chameleon.

I strip, step into the tub, and take a quick shower (2 minutes and 56 seconds).

I dry myself and change in the washroom, only leaving when I'm sure all my hair is hidden securely beneath my wig once again.

I don't take my time while getting my supplies. I hurry and am out of the room in 14 seconds.

Once I lock my dorm door, I head to the cafeteria, my black 2 inch heal boots clonking against the smooth tile floor.

It's confusing sometimes; being two different people. At least, that was what I used to think before; when I _was _two different people. With Abby, I was myself, easy and never hard to be. When I was on missions, I was whoever I wanted to be. I could be a Vanessa, a Lily, an Emma; I could even name myself December and no one would be the wiser.

It was like Dress-Up but with identities.

Kayla today,

Moira tomorrow,

And maybe I'll be myself when I have the time.

But then things changed.

They always do.

**XxNothingButTheTruthxX**

"CoveOps," Mr. Solomon said, walking between the girls and boys standing in single line formation, "Is something you don't need to know."

Students stared at him skeptically. "Nope," Mr. Solomon continued. "It's not for everyone." His face was impassive as he stared at the faces of the spies one by one. "You could do studies in lab, or office."

His movements were silent as he walked with his hands behind his back. "So I bet you're wondering why you're here, if you don't have to be. If you're not _…fit _to be—"He started down Macey McHenry but averted his eyes as he moved down the row.

"You're here…to show me if you _want _to be." Solomon finished his speech, staring directly into my eyes.

I know I probably shouldn't have, because it'll effectively make him acknowledge me more than the rest of the class, but with him being my uncle and not even knowing it, I just had to.

I smirked as he stared at me.

And then I winked.

**XxNothingButTheTruthxX**

I sit at the corner in the lunch room. Noticing noticing noticing everything.

I eat my five stars soup slowly, taking my time because, really, I have nowhere important to go. CoveOps ended directly after Solomon's 'inspiring' speech.

I am skipping class today, simply because I feel like it. I am learning nothing new, after all. It was like reviewing everything I already know.

After I finish my soup and dispose of it in the plate/bowl/cup/utensil slide, I wander the hall ways, looking for secret passages I've missed before (highly unlikely) and effectively camouflaging into the background when I hear someone turn the corridor.

Once I find a secret passage that leads straight to the doors of the academy, I quickly step in and jog to the end.

Once in front of the doors, I freeze, turning rigged. I had hoped this wouldn't happen.

"Ditching, huh?" The smooth voice or Zachery Goodie commented, "Mine if I join you?"

There, leaning against the wall, effectively blocking my way to freedom was now someone who I swore to put on my Hate list.

The smirking little devil was the flaw in this plan.

* * *

**Ahhhhhhhhhh, May here, sorry, sorry. I hope u don't hate me. This chap, as a few others, remain as a filler but do not worry, adventure will not stop! Favorite and follow! Don't forget to review! I'm aiming for 40 this chapter but do not hesitate to add more and tell me what you think.**

**Sorry about the present and past word switch up-my mistake on that part. **

**May is not Ally Cartier. May is only here to make smiles.**

**Ta ta!**


	7. The Art Of Acting Like a Bee With A Itch

**The world of the spy is harsh. Don't slack off, do the deed, take down the 'villain' and, overall, survive. **

**The world of the spy is rough, it's tough, and if you don't watch out, it'll break you down,** **it'll tear you apart, and it will shred you to pieces.**

**They weren't bluffing when they told you "staying on your toes is the most important thing."**

* * *

Zachary Goode, according to the tabloids, is handsome (green eyes and black, messy hair is apparently "In"), has a perfect voice ("It's like angels singing"), is mysterious (shades do _wonders_), is sexy (the five o'clock shadow is supposedly breathtaking), and an all-around charmer ("Pick-up lines that will make you just _melt_").

I'm _really _not seeing it.

"So…where're we going, babe?"

I huff in annoyance. "It is not _we_. There is no you _and _me. It is _only _me."

"Wow, conceited much," he tries joking.

The God-damn _idiot _tries to joke.

I'm in a position where I can strangle him to death in more ways than I want to count and yet, he jokes.

How do they pick spies these days?

It's so tempting to twist his arm behind his back and press my finger on his pressure point. I hold myself back rather reluctantly.

"Go away," I demand.

"Why?" He asks innocently.

I can knock him out and erase his memory in just a few punches here and there and pinches to the right pressure points. I restrain myself, the new girl being able to knock out a 'higher level' spy would rise more than a few suspicions.

I would have no trouble hiding this and making it seem like someone else knocked him out but it would take more time than I can spare, I don't have much in the first place.

"Why are you ditching anyway?" Zachary asks, breaking my train of thought. "It's your second day and if you haven't figured out how extreme this spy school is, I'm really questioning why you were brought here."

"I'm ditching 'cuz I want to," I said rudely, "It's your, what? Third year here? And you don't get the concept of ditching? I'm _really _questioning why _you_ were brought here." I say, mocking him.

"Well, aren't you feisty?"

"Well, aren't you annoying, stupid, and a jerk." I retorted.

"Touché," was his brilliant response.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx**

He's following me. Who the hell does he think he is? My body-guard? I feel like punching his eyes right out of their sockets.

I turn and enter the mall where I blend into the crowd. I raise my eyebrows in amusement when I watch him look around frantically; realising that he'd lost me.

_Some Spy, _I think sarcastically.

I decide to have some fun and step right in front of him. It takes him a few seconds for him to notice me and when he finally does, his ears turn red in anger and I have a fit of laughter.

"Come on," he said roughly, snatching my arms in trying to pull me to the nearest exit, "We're leaving."

I pinch a pressure point in his wrist, effectively making it go numb while I quickly dispatch my arm from his hand.

"No, you're leaving. I'm staying." I say through gritted teeth.

"If you're staying, I'm staying." He said confidently.

I smile wickedly, "If you stay, I'll take the hood off your head and make sure everybody knows that you're _The _Zachary Goode_."_

He glares at me through narrowed eyes and I know I've won. "Ta-ta!" I say cheerfully and do what I do best, blend into the crowd.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx **

"And _what exactly _do you think you would get out of leaving school grounds to go to the mall, Miss Carter?" Mr. Solomon says his emotions in check with his face; blank.

"A lot of stuff, actually," I say, putting my feet up on his desk, my black combat boots knock a vase on to the floor. I look at it with mock sadness and say a simple, "Oops."

Mr. Solomon doesn't even spare the vase a glance. Instead, he raises an eyebrow at me and shows me little emotion—Amusement. "Feel free to clarify."

He looks at me like I'm a little girl having a tantrum. I keep Bitch Mode in check and smirk lazily, "Nah."

He doesn't look at the least bit phased and neither do I. A good spy keeps his/her emotions in check, never showing the least bit of vulnerability.

"I believe you will explain more after we talk," He says, "And so I'm wondering how you like our school."

"Well, I realized a few things. One being that the Geeks totally rule the school. Two, is that Tina doesn't know how to Shut-Up. Actually, I don't even think that word consists in her vocabulary. And wonderful three is that, for a spy school, your security sucks."

I get up and head to the door, "You were right, now I do want to talk about why I ditched. It was because I freaking' wanted to."

I open the door, and prepare to leave, but not before saying smugly, "My homework for the next three weeks have been finished and handed in, so I guess there's no trouble in giving me detention, is there?" I leave out the fact that I also finished the first three and a half academic textbooks for Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Ladies and Gentlemen.

Then I bang the door shut, effectively closing my dramatic departure.

* * *

**So, So, So Sorry for making you wait. :3**

**On the other hand, it's summer! Eek, I've hardly left my room these two weeks but I can happily say my hair grew **

**Tidbit on my next chapter, Liz will play a mini-big part, if that makes any sense.**

**Random Fact about me: I Once Slept through Rome. I'm not even freaking kidding. **

**Review anything you wanna about this chapter but please, not too harsh of a flame and I apologize for making the chapter short. If u wanna know a few more random stuff about me, just PM away.**

**(But no creeping, seriously)**

**~With laughter and smiles, May**


	8. Merging Frighteningly

**It's not hard being someone you're not. All you need to do is just**

_**Become.**_

**But it's harder keeping your two personalities separate**

**Because,**

**Once in a while**

_**They merge.**_

**And that's one of the greatest fears of a spy.**

* * *

Her stance is too tense, her feet too far apart, her body angling in slightly the wrong direction and she looks too frustrated to actually hit the punching bag correctly.

She hits the punching bag one last time with a frustrated moan. Letting her hands swing by her sides in defeat she quickly turns around and bends to get her water bottle but then the punching bag swings right back and smacks her in the butt. She goes flying with a look of shock and hits the floor a foot away from where she was.

My eyes widen in astonishment; how can someone suck as bad as she does?

I watch her for a little while longer until I feel bad and a little sick of the way she's messing up the art of hitting a punching bag.

I mean, come on; it swung back and hit her in the butt!

So I stealthily swing down from the air vent I was casually spying through and hit the ground without a sound. I blend into the shadows and lean against the wall.

She's at it again; punching the bag in her frustrated, too tense, feet too far apart, body angling in slightly the wrong direction, way.

As quick as I can, I swipe her water bottle from behind her, take a quick water fall and put it back. She didn't even notice its absence.

She mutters under her breath, "I'm doing it wrong."

"Way to point out the obvious," I say with a sigh.

The Pixie Girl shrieks. "Who are you, where are you?" She asks with her voice a few octaves higher than it should be.

"Well, you know, I'm just an avatar cooking dinner." I say sarcastically.

She's still searching around the small room for me, her eyes passing the place I've hidden in several times. "It's past dinner time," she says _oh so smartly _back.

"No kidding," I reply with a roll of my eyes she can't see.

"Show yourself you coward."

"You know that line only works in movies, right?" I reply.

"Oh just shut up and stop hiding," Pixie Girl cries. "Please," she uses as a last resort.

I lean out of the shadow and tap her shoulder. She jumps and shrieks.

"Geez, save my ear drums, would you?" I ask, wincing. "You have _some _pair of lungs there, Pixie Girl."

"My name's Liz," She says.

"I know," I say, "but you look like a pixie."

She scowls and we have a mini staring contest until she gives up after a few minutes; water brimming the against lids of her eyes.

"What d'ya want?" She asks with a scowl.

"You suck," I point out.

She musters up a pathetic glare and tried to look intimidating—which is very hard when you're five feet and you look like a pixie, like Liz.

A sentence slips out of my mouth, one that I know I'll either hate, or eventually appreciate later in life, "I could help you, you know, with the baggage of a deal."

* * *

I'm such a freaking idiot. Really, I am.

In short, this is what Liz did: laugh, ask how the new girl would know anything about packing a punch, gave me a disbelieving sneer, and muttered something about how Macey and Bex were seriously rubbing off on her. She also picked up her water bottle and left the room—in exactly that order. Seriously. And people were saying _I _was rude.

I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor, my shock making my knees feel weak. What had just happened there? I was vulnerable. I was not a bitch. I didn't act the least bit ass-whole-ish. I acted like myself.

And Goddamnit, that scared me.

* * *

**This is short, just a filler. Insight on how Cam is starting to adapt and unravel, almost against her will. A few minor mistakes here and there, I hope there isn't though. I'm also hoping for reviews like a pathetic little girl. So, please put me out of my misery—we can make it to 65, yea?**

**Sending your favourite food with love from up in the summer here in Canada, May is signing out :)**

**(Ps-Random fact-I ****fed wild hyenas twice in my life.)**


	9. Melody of Nightmares

_Disclaimer: Me, owning the GG series at the age of mere tween? I can assure you, I _don't _own the books_

* * *

**To be honest (if you haven't already noticed) I have insomnia.**

**In•som•ni•a /inˈsämnēə/Noun**

**Habitual sleeplessness; inability to sleep.**

**Synonyms; Sleeplessness - wakefulness - vigilance**

**I don't sleep. Not for days. Not until I know I'll drop but even then I quietly sneak to my dorm so no one can see my weakness and only for a few hours do I rest—because the nightmares infest my dream, of course.**

**I may be a spy but I have fears. I am not perfect.**

**I'm afraid of my nightmares.**

* * *

The vents are not a clean place. In fact, they're quite dusty. You know, having not been cleaned in over a century or so. Yes, as I said before, the vents are an unbelievably dusty, dirty place.

Then why do I like to travel in them, you ask? I have absolutely no idea.

Nausea engulfs me as I crawl through another vent entrance. I am crawling through another set of vents to get back to my single room dorm. The thick dust around me swirls when I let out an uncalled for cough and doesn't help my sudden rising fever.

The silver-gray vent walls are surprisingly sturdy but once I think about it, it isn't really surprising. A spy school needs what a spy school needs. And apparently, that includes vents that can hold _a lot _of weight.

Once I reach my room I lift the small mental entrance, placed in the top right corner of my room and shimmy my way out. Still hanging, I grip the lid with my left fingertips and slowly ease it back to its spot. I drop to the ground and let my arms hang jadedly at my sides. With a small clipping sound, the lid falls in place.

I don't have much energy to scout out the room like I usually do the minute I enter. The only thing I give notice to is my bed (which suddenly looks very welcoming) and the digital clock on my bedside, blinking—quite hurriedly, I might add—to show that it was well after midnight and well over curfew.

I don't bother to change out of my clothes before dropping on my bed like dead-weight since I can barely keep my eyes on them without picturing it having multiple images or 3-D figures.

When was the last time I slept?

Scratch that, when was the last time I had a good night's sleep? _Never._

When I got myself barely comfortable on the mattress, exhaustion was thrown on me like a fifty foot wave and I fainted into sleep.

* * *

Sheen of cold sweat covers my body and I'm trembling so bad that I know I can never let this happen again. At least, not here where I can look vulnerable, _be _vulnerable.

The clock by my bedside table catches my eye and I scowl in frustration once I notice that I've only gotten four hours of sleep. I sigh in pure anger and run my hand through my hair. _Well, it'll have to last for _at least _the week._

I calm down after a couple of moments and look around in confusion. Why don't I rememb—?

And then I know.

I don't remember the dream. I never remember the whole dream.

It's always flash's, small mobs and discrete images; sometimes repeating over and over again. I never understand it, I never remember it.

It's the fire. It's always the fire that I remember the most.

I know what happens. I don't forget, no matter how much I want to.

I always get reminded in my nightmares

Of how the only person I ever loved unconditionally and took care of me with passion, made sure they took her life instead of mine.

* * *

The air vents are now my safe-haven. These dusty, dirty, sturdy walls are now my midnight means of transportation. It's ridiculous really, how in a school full of spies, I feel the safest in roach infested vents.

I don't know where I'm travelling to. The vents are my safe-haven so I will go where they lead me.

A sudden soft melody of notes washes over me. The music travels through the vents and as promised, I let the vents give me free passage to the music.

I turn left, then right, another left and I have this slightly chaotic feeling that getting to the music wasn't just fueled my curiously but by a gut feeling necessity—call it spy's intuition, if you must. I keep going straight and then make a quick turn right. The tempo picks up as I near the place of sound.

When the music reaches its tempo, I find the vent attached to the room making that beautiful and strangely familiar melody.

I don't peer into the vent at first. Nope, I lean against the vertical wall and close my eyes. I try to picture; remember why these particular notes of music are so familiar. It annoys me that I cannot pin-point it right away. My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I try to remember but keep pulling a blank. It becomes frustrating to the point where the music finishes and I don't realize it until the pianist starts to shuffle his/her papers and opens the door to leave.

I snap out of my blind thinking and quickly peer into the vent. Just as the door closes behind the person, I catch his clothing (it's definitely a 'him'), the color of his hair, and the frustrated, angry, slightly saddened tilt of his lips.

And then the mahogany door slams with a bang behind him.

I stay in my position for a while and desperately try to remember the notes, the melody and the feel of the music as it had its effect on me.

But I couldn't. Everything that I just listened to was forgotten.

But that wasn't supposed to be possible,

Because I have photographic memory.

* * *

**Hey world. I feel like I would've wrote more on this chapter but it's 1,000 words without the A/N. And have iiiii got news for u!**

**Well, lovely people of the world. I hope you read this through and through.**

**For one, some stuff on my story: this chapter didn't have any dialogue 'cuz I thought I was kinda over using it. The dialogue sometimes took over the whole chapter and I felt like you guys weren't really getting the image of the place. So, this was just a tester. No dialogue in this but in future chapters I hope to learn to balance it so you can get a feel of **_**where**_** the character is and of **_**who**_** the character is my the description and dialogue. If you guys have any tips, tell moi please. **

**And, question, are you guys getting a feel of who Cammy is now? I'm wanting her to be bad*** when with people but when alone she's more herself. The Cammy in this story won't be hugely equal to the one in the books, though I plan to incorporate the broken Cammy when she returned from losing her memory.**

**Now, on-ta reviews. There was this one guest reviewer who gave me a random fact about her-self and I loved it. I'm also thankful for all the reviews you guys are giving me. Mwah, Mwah. You passed my goal of 65! How 'bout we reach 78 now? **

**Sooo, if you read the full A/N (and be honest) review with a random fact about yourself! :D (you don't have to though)**

**You're reading May's work. (did you read that in a Tree-house show voice? Try it :P)**

**Random Fact: One thing on my bucket list is to try every single thing in Tim Horton's in no more than two go's. **

**Random fact two: Except the coffee. Coffee gives me migraine! **


	10. The Best Killer Of All

**There are usually two types of killers.**

**First, there's the type to murder in cold blood and find it as a way of life. You could probably hear that jackass saying "He was going to die **_**eventually**_**." **

**Then, there's the second type—the type to kill to save the innocent and still feel guilty that he took a life. **

**I hope we both see which one's better.**

* * *

It's Monday today and I've never felt so connected to the world. Since the piano, I've felt different.

"Ms. Carter, who do you think you are, daydreaming in this class and whatnot," the twelfth grade English teacher demanded, her pointer stick slamming down against my desk. Yes, twelfth grade English was taught to 14-15 graders in spy school. And yes, not all our classes are about kicking butt. And, yea, she used a pointer stick.

I contemplate on what I should say, finally settling with, "Ms. Umbridge—"I'm serious, that's her name. I wouldn't really be surprised if she was _the_ Dolores Umbridge from the Harry Potter series—"who do you think you are, assuming things. I'm offended," ending with a straight face.

Ms. Umbridge shot me a glare. "One more step out of line and it'll be straight to the Headmasters office for you," she threatened.

"Teachers these days," I mumble whilst rolling my eyes. Adding with a raise of volume, I say, "As a matter of fact, Mr. Solomon and I are getting fully acquainted, ya know, if you take in the fact that I get sent there more times than class."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Well, I'm not the imbecile giving myself the detention slip so…"

Needless to say, I got sent out.

* * *

CoveOps is what a normal person would tittle as 'Gym on Steroids'. Six mile runs are what we categorise as warm-ups and being fit is not a need, it's a must. Maybe that's why almost everyone in this school looks like models.

Anyway, CoveOps was once a day for two and half hours. You are timed and expected to do better the next day. You are taught how to shoot a gun, make a knife, punch hard enough to break a nose, dislocate a shoulder and much, much more. CoveOps was also about my specialty: being a wallflower. It was a specialty that was held with utmost respect because, of course, a killer that you didn't see coming is the best killer of all.

**XxNothingButTheTruthxX**

Mr. Solomon gave me a withering look and decided to let me watch instead of participating. I didn't object but once he turned I half-heartedly flipped him the bird.

After muttering a selected choice of words in Farsi under my breath, I decided to observe and find the Achilles heel of every one of my classmates. Their weaknesses were easy to find and point out but their Achilles heel was much harder. Sitting on the bench for two hours straight though, gave me more than enough time.

"CoveOps group!" Mr. Solomon called from across the yard, "Ms. Carter! Round up!"

I don't like how he excluded me when calling the class in but I grudgingly made my way to the circle of sweaty, panting kids.

"Ms. Carter, step up."

The kids moved back to make a large circle and watched with curious eyes. I stepped into the circle.

"Ms. Jones, into the circle," Mr. Solomon said.

Ms. Jones obeyed the orders and stepped in. The circle of kids moves outwards a little more. Ms. Jones A.K.A Maria was big. She was made of muscular, acne, stringy hair and an angry scowl. She stood on the balls of her feet and, due to the extra muscle on her right arm than the left; it was obvious favours her right.

"You two," Mr. Solomon says, "Will fight until one combatant hits the floor and remains there for four seconds. Questions, anyone?"

I raise my hand in the air. "Yes, Ms. Carter?"

"What do you get when you win?" I ask.

"You'll find out if you win," he replies, meaning I wouldn't find out at all. "Anyone else?" He was met with silence.

"Okay, on the count of three," Mr. Solomon starts, "One."

Maria smirks and gets into place.

"Two."

She looks at me with a sneer that I know I can wipe off her face. I know I shouldn't fight because if I do, it'll blow my cover at worst but if she swings first I know I'll end up winning in ten seconds or less.

"Three, go."

So I take the first swing, right where she can take me down, but she doesn't. Instead she rolls to the floor and tries to grip my leg and yank me down, which is extremely stupid (since I can kick her in the face and leave her an eye so black, people will be questioning if they're seeing her soul instead) but I let her anyway. I was feeling generous so I didn't kick her in the face after all.

The fight was done in less than twenty seconds and ends with my face on the floor.

Mr. Solomon didn't even bother to congratulate Maria. Instead he glares at me. I pretend to be busy dusting off my dark attire instead of meeting his glare with an even fiercer one. I casually start to make my way out of the crowd when Mr. Solomon's sharp voice made me freeze in place.

"Ms. Jones please leave the inner circle," he orders. Maria scowls but relents and makes her way to her friends who clap her on the back and congratulate her with smug looks on their faces. "Ms. Carter please refrain from leaving the circle. You will now be versing Mr. Rogers."

"But I lost!" I protest.

"And that is precisely why you need to go again."

I grit my teeth and scowl. My opponent has big, bulging muscles, is the definition of beefy and towers over me so much so that he creates a shadow that covers me whole. What the hell are they feeding kids these days?

"And Ms. Carter?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Try this time."

I try not to turn bone white at his statement and face Mr. Rogers. He gave me an once-over accompanied by a glare.

"Hey, bitc—"

"You better not finish that sentence," I warn the human tower.

"And why the hell not? Whatcha gonna do, little girl?"

I stay silent but send him a mischievous look.

"Does the little girl have nothing to say?" he fakes a pout.

"Come at me," I snarl.

And he does. For about ten minutes where I successfully dodge all his punches and moves. He turns angry. Angry enough that when Mr. Solomon starts counting down from ten seconds his face turns as red neon red can get and he runs at me, resembling a _very _angry bull.

I slide out-of-the-way at the last second and he trips over the foot I've put out. He sprawls to the floor and lays there in defeat, taking a much-needed deep breath. Gosh, where'd this kids stamina go?

Class is up and most of the students run to the door, not sparing me a second glance or praise. Good. If I didn't punch and let the fight stretch on, people became uninterested in the fight and more importantly, in me.

But then a group of four come and praise me on my quick dodges. The three boys give me a thumb up and clap me on the back before they leave but the girl stays and asks me questions.

"I heard about you. You're the new girl, right? Well, anyway, you were awesome dodging him and such. You have great agility and speed and you didn't even get a single scratch. I probably have the agility and speed of a walrus. A walrus I'm telling' you! And isn't this, like, the first class you actually participated in? And it's your first year and time too. I'm usually really shy but I feel like I can talk to you. You just have that vibe, ya know? So cool. And I'm not just saying that. You have mad skill. Did you join any teams back home? I bet you joined all of 'em at one point. Didn't ya?"

I nod, wary of the girl who didn't have a mute button. Walrus? Teams? I have an open vibe? Since freakin' when?

"My name's Anna Fetterman, by the way."

I nod. And nod and nod. Maybe that way she'll get the hell away from me. I'm not here to make friends.

"Well, anyway, let's talk later. Maybe at the movie night the girls are having tonight. Yea, I'll see you there! You just _have _to tell me about those sports you played." She leaves with a smile on her face.

I look around the room if I forgot something (which is highly unlikely) but instead I see Mr. Solomon staring at me with a calculating expression. I quickly turn back around and casually jog to the door whilst anything but casual.

He knows I've never joined a sports team in my life.

I push open the huge metal doors and they slam behind me with as much force I used to open it. According to the bang, it was a lot of force.

Mr. Solomon is a trained spy. He knows that I wasn't trying the first time and that I've never played a mundane sport in my life, unless necessary. Being the Headmaster, he has probably looked through my file and did an intense background check on me. More than once.

I lean against the old brick wall, out of sight to spy pupils and take a gulp of fresh air.

I knew I shouldn't have winked at him.

Mr. Solomon was suspicious.

And that itself can almost blow my cover.

* * *

**U GUUUUUUUYS! 1, 655 WORDS NOT INCLUDING THIS A/N! I'M SO PROUD! AND I'M PRETTY SURE THE NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO BE THIS LONG TOO! AAAAAAAND WE REACHED 80 COMMENTS. I've actually been waiting for the 80****th**** comment so I could post this cuz I'm rooting for 90. So ta-da!**

**I've meant to say this in the last chapter but it slipped my mind—when you guys reviewed the random things about urself, 95 % of u we're so awkward it was cute :D you were all like "umm, I dunno." But really you could've just reviewed what ur fave color was. I'm cool with something like that. (I'm feeling rambley so this a/n might be long). I HOPE I DIDN'T OFFEND ANY OF U'S! **

**The next chapter I'm gonna post is making me feel unsure. You see, I have two other things going' on. ( a little of three) I got the Liz thing. The piano stuff and a lil of the CoveOps. WAIT! I GOT IT! OMG I WROTE A WHOLE BUNCH OF STUFF DOWN JUST NOW IN MY DRAFTS. Huh, so writing does help you get your thoughts together after all.**

**Random Fact: Honestly, I've always wanted to meet new people. I've always wanted to make more and more friends. Because it's like a new beginning with them. They don't know any or ur past and vice versa. I looooove making new friends. It's purely amazing to me.**

**OMG AND ONE MORE THING BEFORE I DO MY BUISSNESS AND STOP HOLDING IT IN (TMI, I KNOW): **

**Me and my bff had a insta-msg today.(imma use the word bff instead of her name) It went like this:**

**Me: OMG BFF, I HAVE AN OUTIE BELLY BUTTON!**

**Bff: yea, I already know….**

**Me: OH MY FREAKING GOSH U ALREADY KNEW! I THOUGHT I HAD AN INNIE ALL MY LIFE! IM SERIOUS!**

**Bff: lmao, lololololololololol.**

**Me: DUDE, MY COUSIN AND SIS HAVE INNIES AND I'VE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS AN OUTIE! I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING! STOP LAUGHING! I'VE LOOKED EVERYWHERE AND ALL ALONG I'VE HAD ONE AND U DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE DESENCY TO TELL ME! MY WHOLE LIFE IS A LIEEEEEEEEEEEE!**

**Bff: rofl, ur killing me!**

**Me: … … … Time of death: _**

**Bff: omigosh! Where am I gonna find another bff! Omg don't leaaaaaaaaaaaave meeeeeee! **

**Me: Ur new bff is in a tree**

**Bff: what?**

**Me: ur new bff. She's prob in a tree. Reading. Go look for her.**

**Bff: my new bff is in a tree reading? But that's where I found u.**

**Me: ironic isn't it. Now go find her and make sure you tell her what kind of belly button she has before she dies a gruesome death like moi. **

**THE END (of the script)**

**If you've read through the outrageously long a/n and script. U deserve an internet cookie. So go get one Cuz I'm all out **

**Ps, Dear Guest Reviewers. If/ when you comment please leave a fake name of something so I can get back to you on the a/n's**

**This is May, signing out **


	11. Mission: Civilian

_The person who owns the GG series is not me._

* * *

**I learnt to be a spy outside of the spy school. It wasn't like** **Gallagher Academy at all. It tested your strength; your ability to survive without love and the ability to see the only family you really know die at your feet.**

**Maybe the kids in Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies and Gentlemen were unconditioned but I just didn't feel like they were ready for an actual mission.**

**But deep down, I don't think it really came down to that.**

**It wasn't that they weren't ready for a mission; it was just that I thought they weren't ready for the type of mission **_**I **_**went through.**

**The type if mission they'll eventually receive.**

* * *

The movie night is before dinner and in the late afternoon which kinda kills the meaning of the tittle "Movie _Night_".

Right after school ends, all the girls rush to the Main Room, located in the left-wing. I've been there before on my first night (what can I say? Exploring takes you places). It was a room that storages two wooden bunk beds which the girls pull close to the large flap screen T.V and lay on, two plush leather couches that are placed side by side in diagonal formation, a single red recliner and plenty of high-definition. There are also two work desks that were moved to the far left side where a dusty lamp stands rigidly and a digital clock blinks the time in faded red.

The girls assemble themselves on the couch, bed, and floor; carrying multiple pillows and blankets around them to make themselves comfortable.

When the movie finally turned on, (they choice to watch a sappy movie) I managed to sneak away half way through (while they paused the movie to pick what they should watch next; it was Step Up) and go to my dorm to finish next month's homework.

Movies aren't really my thing anymore.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx**

Dinner is at 8:00 and I manage to sneak back into the movie room while the credits roll down the second movie, marking its ending. I'm positive no one noticed that I had left and I blend right into the crowd of girls as they walk in single file line to the Cafeteria.

The girls at the beginning of the line falter for a second and as I walk into the Cafeteria, I figure out why.

The Cafeteria is set with an equal amount of chairs and tables on each side off the room with fancy tablecloths and plates placed on the tables.

**Number of Extra Agents in the Room: 25**

The girls hurry their paces when they realize they are the last people left. Once we're seated, I do another discreet once over of the room.

**Number of People: Full House**

**Number of Extra, Unnecessary Chandeliers: 7**

**Number of Extra Webcams: 3**

Well today seems like a fancy day, I think as Mr. Solomon walks up the stairs to the makeshift stage and the lights dim.

As all the spies blend in and search for danger, I can't help but think of all the kinds of scenarios that could happen, that could put my whole mission—the reason I'm _here _in the first place—in danger.

And I can't help but feel a little inferior,

Even if I don't show it.

* * *

Mr. Solomon started his speech with a knowing smile. A smile that didn't reveal anything and made you felt like every single possible guess you gave to why this is happening is wrong. He stood behind a wooden podium and spoke. He briefed us about what has happened in the school year so far, criticized our CoveOps work and sent constructive comments our way. He looked at each student meaningfully and stared every spy-in-training in the eye, glancing at me last as I glanced back at him the same way he did. I analyzed him comically and almost missed the impeccable way he fell out of his knowing smile that he was granting the school as he stared into my eyes that I coolly kept a liquid black color. I could've blinked and missed it; hell, I could've been staring and missed it, like all the other spy-in-training's did.

Then Mr. Solomon addressed the soon-to-be graduates about their futures as a spy and jobs awaiting them.

And finally, we are allowed to eat soup. Soup. An hour speech later and we're given soup. And salad.

A few people polity excused themselves to go to the rest room while others talked in low voices with one another. I drank my soup straight from the boul. Screw manners, I'm starving.

I wipe my mouth with a linen cloth and do another once over of the room, checking every bit from the floor to the ceiling. As my eyes wander to the floor again, they catch Mr. Smith's. I look into his eyes and read the palpable message he's trying to send me with them. _I'm sorry. Keep on guard for later. There's more. Don't keep your heart on your sleeve._

And as I gave intently into his eyes I know that whatever's coming isn't going to be good.

**xXNothing But The TruthXx**

Before we have the main dinner course, (which is spaghetti, I checked while the girls were shamelessly sobbing over the movie plot) Mr. Solomon gave us another speech:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this year you will need to step up your games. For the remainder of this month—twenty days—we will have visitors," he pauses and looks around to gauge the spy-in-trainings faces (which array from surprised to worried) and continues, "They will know nothing about spies and it will be your job to make it stay that way."

Mouths fly open and few quiet gasps leave them. Mr. Solomon nods almost diminutively as if he expected that reaction and pushes on, "Every single one of you will act like a normal civilian!" Right about now, in a normal school, loud dramatic gasps would be heard followed by rebellious shouting. None of that was heard now.

"Whoever slips up in the slightest will have consequences to pay for. Whoever slips up thrice will be expelled from this spy school." _Now _gasps were heard but not a single protest is heard.

"Dinner will now be served," Mr. Solomon said while men and women in uniforms enter the dining room with silver trolleys carrying five-star is spaghetti. They begin to hand the plates out, serving it with coke with a choice of ice.

In thirty minutes, the students use the time to talk, gossip, eat, and in my case, study. Study every person's facial features, every word in that speech, and anything that could be out of place or different. Basically, anything that can help me find out what's next in store.

After the spaghetti, Mr. Solomon steps back on to the stage but he isn't alone.

As he waits patiently behind the podium for the chatter to decrease, which happens almost immediately, he clears his throat and speaks, "Now, I will give the stage to Mrs. Morgan who will be announcing the reason this fancy dinner is being held."

Mrs. Morgan is truly beautiful. She has long blond hair, bright blue eyes, soft pink lips and blonde eyebrows that smoothly arch.

Mrs. Morgan scans the room before speaking and I take that time to drink my coke and turn to my linen napkin, effectively hiding my face.

As much as I wish I could've predicted this, I didn't. I stare at Mr. Smith who glances at me with a somber and slightly apologetic expression.

Mrs. Morgan's full name is Rachel Morgan.

My last name is Morgan.

To Mrs. Morgan, I shouldn't be alive.

To the people who want me dead, I _shouldn't _be alive.

One thing that Mrs. Morgan and I have in common is our blood.

Standing before me is someone I should call my mom, someone who shouldn't think I'm dead, someone I've only seen when I as a baby and before everything went wrong.

Standing before me, behind that podium is my mom.

And she doesn't even know I'm in this crowd.

Heck, she doesn't even know I survived that night.

* * *

**Why hello. You guys have given me 95 reviews so I decided to give you a chapter. It's how this thing works, right? :P**

**How'd you like Mrs. Morgan? She didn't get to do her speech yet. That'll be held in the next chapter and will be just the amount of surprise as this chapter. You guys have any guesses on what'll be about?**

**I loved u guy's random facts! Here is mine: I was once alone with 3 hyena's. I then ran back to my family like Usain Bolt. Never Again. **

**I posted a short story about Percy Jackson. Only the first chapter though. So if you guys like PJ then feel free to check it out. It's called SAVING ANNABETH and is AU. I apologize if this chapter is too short and confusing. I also apologize for grammar mistakes. Thinks will get better :)**

**This is May, signing out. **


	12. Mischievous Visitors :

"**My whole life is a web of lies."**

**I said that once to a civilian. I was at the book store and doing what I did best: blend.**

**But that day, someone saw me. It was a guy and he called himself Josh. He was pretty cute; I had to give him that. And he wouldn't lay off flirting. I was an élite spy and maybe it'd work out in an alternative universe, but just not now.**

**I lied and told him that I had a boyfriend and showed him a picture of a pretty buff guy I carry around for situations like this.**

**He laid off and we talked about books. At the time, I was in Canada and my cover was shy and quiet so hence what I was doing in a book store. **

"**Every body's intent on doing it right that they don't even notice that right is so wrong. Am I doing it right?" He quoted from an author.**

**I replied back with a totally different quote, by me (but he didn't know that), "My whole life is a web of lies."**

**He looked at me funny and a small smile graced his face while he asked, "Does that mean you don't have a boyfriend?"**

* * *

**Later That Night…**

I _need _to listen to the piano tonight. It calms me down; it wakes me up. It reminds me of the past I would've had. The past I faked up front. It's difficult—different—to listen to but worth it because in the end, my nightmares don't come. I can get a good night's sleep. I just have to hope—not pray; I've lost my faith a long time ago—that the pianist continues playing until the month is over; until my mother leaves this school.

I don't know who the pianist is. And honestly, I don't want to know. It helps me stay anchored to the music, not the person. If I knew, it would take away the magic. I'm afraid that I will get nightmares again if I know. I can't get them again. They are one of the few things that terrify me and as a spy; I cannot be terrified of anything.

The vent is not the most comfortable or ideal place to listen to the peaceful music with its dirty, thick dust and small space that if I was a normal person, I would most likely be claustrophobic to.

I travel to the practicing room when the pianist gathers his or her papers and shuts and locks the door behind him/her when leaving. I crawl back when I'm positive that there is no melody left to listen to. I then move soundlessly on all fours to the vent that overlooks the practice room.

As I see the outline of Liz unlocking the door from the outside, I drop down and conceal myself in the dark shadows that replicate my choppy, short hair, bulky combat boots and loose jeans with a matching loose top.

I don't announce my arrival until I see her endurance crumble and her will lose hope. Until she stops punching the punching bag.

And before I reveal myself, I always steal her water bottle to take a refreshing sip. Don't worry, I return it. I just wait for the moment she walks in here and notices.

The first and foremost, most important thing to a spy; the first rule you ever learn—Notice things.

For a girl who has one of the highest I.Q's in the state, she's a pretty bad at that.

And for some reason, I plan to help her improve; completely throwing my cover under the bus.

But every time I think that, I pretend I am Aunt Abby. Selfless and brave—the perfect combination for a perfect spy.

A perfect spy.

I have to reach that point someday anyway so why not dig my grave and start now?

* * *

The next week was surreal. We do not have CoveOps or any other spy related subject. In fact, our school day is normal because of the people visiting; thirty people, to be exact. So far only a handful of Spy-in-Trainers get warnings. I am in the category that has gotten none.

There was only one good thing that this whole task brought me. I remember one day at lunch, I almost laughed.

I was sitting silently and alone in the corner of the room, eating a bologna sandwich. The cafeteria was tense and near quiet with only a few murmuring in the air. It was the second day the visitors and the first day they were accompanying us for lunch.

Everything was fine until proud and all-mighty Bex saw a spider. Her boisterous voice carried over the nearly silent conversations.

The first words out of her mouth were, "HOLY SHIT, IT'S A SPIDER."

Who knew that the girl who held herself up so proudly was afraid of spiders? At first, I stifled my grin as the room became quiet and eyes focused on her; her red skinny jeans, black gladiators, graphic V-neck, glossy hair (I raised my eyebrows at her choice of clothes for a spy school. She had someone to impress, apparently. And by the discrete looks her friends were giving one guy in particular—Grant—I took a hunch that it was him) and terrified face.

"For the love of God…" I heard Macy mutter under her breath from the across the room. She wasn't as quiet as she intended to be. After slipping off her shoe, (which were more sensible then Bex's were, might I add) she began to lower it to the spider to kill it.

Before she could, it moved—straight to their faces.

"HOLY EFFEN HELL IT'S MOVING!" Bex shrieked.

The girls jumped away and the spider gradually took a stroll up his silk web that apparently brought him to the lovely girls. I ever so casually glanced to the ceiling and then moved my eyes to take a stroll over the faces of the students, who stared at her miffed and irked at the girls behaviour.

As I did so, Mr. Smith strode up to them with a flustered face on, "Bex!" he said with convincing anger, "Language!" I could see right through it though; he found this absolutely hilarious.

"English!" She huffed before crossing her arms over her chest and slamming her rear to her seat, joining Macy who quickly sat down once she realized (before Bex) what ruckus they were causing.

Mr. Smith raised an angry eyebrow and, to everyone's shock, gave her detention before walking off. Bex gaped at the detention sheet for a few moments, her face the same color as the white material, before walking out with as much dignity she had left. It was quite funny.

Mr. Smith turned to me for a second to send me a small, unnoticeable wink. He, like me, knew that the spider was fake and he, like me, knew who did it.

I looked at the visitors table again and spotted the pranker who tried to look inconspicuous. I knew better though, and so did Mr. Smith.

I then made sure no one glanced at me before gazing down at my plate and biting my lip to hold in the crazy urge to chuckle.

I guess I should've noticed that that had been the first sign something was severely wrong.

I almost laughed—something I haven't done in a year or two—and that meant I was getting too comfortable.

Too attached, too loyal.

That shouldn't have happened.

* * *

**Hellooooooooooo Aussies, Brits, Americans, Canadians, Anyone from Europe, Asia and Africa and anyone I have missed. I GOT 100 REVIEWS! AND WHOOOO HELPED WITH THAT? YOUUUUUU!**

**SOOOO I'm just wondering about the amount of people who have started school. I have and it's harder than the year before so I will be most likely posting on weekends then weekends. I've also been wondering about the amount of people who have read the little short notes at the top of the chapter. They're in bold and pretty hard to miss. I hope you guys are doing that.**

**Random Note: I don't like how people are immodestly dressing these days. It irks me. But I am not insulting anyone who does so there's no need to rant out in reviews to me.**

**Good reviews though, are appreciated and welcomed with open arms.**

**Until next time, May. **


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